Bonding Time
by KissMeDeadlyT-T
Summary: During an Allies meeting, America decides it would be an 'epic idea of awesomazingness' to handcuff the bickering people together and force them to get along or die trying- and when Tony swallows the key to the safe that holds the keys for their cuffs, they really have no choice. -Lots of silly randomness, smut. AmeCan, FrUk, and RoChu. ON HIATUS
1. Introduction!

**KissMeDeadlyT-T: So I was bored and I have writer's block for my other  
2 stories (fuck me -_-), and created this… it was originally  
supposed to be a stupid oneshot, but I can see now it's gonna have to  
be longer… one chapter for each couple I guess. Also I wrote I on my iPod so if anything is like /this/, it's in italics and I just missed it when editing.**

-AmeCan, FrUk, and RoChu.

-I haven't decided yet, but the rating on this may go up— depending  
on what I include in the next chapters. If you know what I mean ;)

-Me no own APH. Read on!

xxXXxxXXxx  
  
America slammed his hands down on the table, not paying any attention  
to the huge crack that appeared from his freakish strength, and  
yelled, "EVERYBODY SHUT UP!"

The Allies all paused in their arguing—Britain and France on top of  
each other, throwing punches and calling each other the worse names  
they could come up with, Russia creeping on China and the little Asian  
looking rightfully creeped out and threatening him with a giant bowl  
from who knows where, and even Canada in the corner was looking like  
he just wanted to kill everybody as he spoke quietly to Kumajirou.  
They all looked to the head of the table, where America was glaring at  
them all, much like Germany during the world meetings.

"What the bloody hell!" Britain exclaimed suddenly. "Since when do  
_you _break up any fights?"

America puffed his chest out. "Well, since I'm the hero I thought I  
should do something! Come on guys, we're supposed to be allies." He  
frowned, looking at them all, even Canada. "How are we gonna get  
anything done if we're always arguing?"

"Most of the time you're one of the ones arguing, you hypocrite, aru."  
China seethed, none-too-gently shoving Russia's wandering hands away.  
He swore in Mandarin under his breath, pushing the loose strands of  
dark hair back from his face.

"Eh, whatever." America shrugged and reached deep into the pockets of  
his bomber jacket, sticking his tongue out as he dug for what seemed  
like forever. Britain scowled, France looked bored, Canada stared  
awkwardly at the floor, Russia smiled his usual little grin, and China  
looked ready to blow a brain gasket. When they heard a soft clinking  
sound, all of their eyes immediately shot to America, who was pulling  
something out of his pockets now.

France's eyes started sparkling with glee. "Hé, are those handcuffs?"

"Oh shut it you disgusting frog! No one wants to hear your fantasies!"

"_Oh hon hon, mon cher_~ I can show you my fantasies if only you'd let  
me~"

"Eeughhh! Get away from me, you filthy swine!"

"Whaat!" China cut in. "Why do you have handcuffs?"

America grinned, twirling the three sets of handcuffs between his  
fingers. "It's something I overheard Germany talking to Prussia about—  
connecting people who can't get along with each other _to_ each other,  
so that they have no choice but to start getting along. Man you  
shoulda seen the look on Prussia's face when Germany mentioned  
Austria… Hehe… well anyways."

Canada opened his mouth to say something, but Britain interrupted.  
Canada sighed.

"Are you a fool?" Britain demanded. "All that will do is make it  
worse!" He noticed the gleam in France's sapphire eyes and screeched,  
"If you're thinking of tying me to _him_, you can _forget_ about it! I  
am _not_ spending my time attached to—"

"That is because he cannot control himself around me, because I am so  
beautiful and he just comes undone~"

The dark red hue of mortified embarrassment on Britain's face was  
laughable. "That's rubbish!" he stuttered out. "I'll sooner quit the  
Allies and go be a loner again—"

"Shut up, bro!"

Britain looked ready to explode, but he held his tongue and plopped  
angrily back down into his chair, glaring holes into the wall opposite  
him. He completely ignored when France started to play with his hair,  
looking so pissed and embarrassed that probably nothing would be able  
to make it worse. As if that hadn't happened, America went on, "So, since we have such damage getting along, we're gonna do this for three  
weeks. And since I'm the totally awesome leader you have to listen to me."

This time it was China with a problem. "_Three_ weeks! There's no _way _

"Three weeks isn't so bad," Russia smiled. "I once only had a yak for  
company for two months."

"A yak is better company than—"

"If I'm tied to France for that long I'll lose my sanity!"

"_Hé_, I think you stole my line, _bâtard_!"

"Shut up, frog! Not to mention he'll rape me! America, I _refuse_ to  
let you—"

"Mon cher, that is not very nice. I would make sure you enjoyed it~"

"YOU BLOODY PERVERT—"

"Actually, yaks can be quite mean."

"I don't even care! I can't handle being tied to _anyone_ for that  
long, what about my privacy, aru!"

"I can close my eyes, da?"

"You'll peek!"

"Of course I will! You're so cute!"

"Aiyaa! Hands off!"

"FRANCE IF YOU TOUCH ME I SWEAR BY THE QUEEN I WILL CURSE YOU AND MAKE  
YOU LOOK OLD AND UGLY!"

"AIIIEEEEE!_ Non, Angleterre, pourquuuoooooiiiiii_—"

"Oh boy… Kuma…whatever your name is… should we sneak out?"

"Who are you?"

"I'm Canada…"

"I AM TOO BEAUTIFUL! YOU CANNOT CURSE ME LIKE THAT!"

"THEN KEEP YOUR FILTHY HANDS AWAY FROM ME!"

"But—"

"FRANCIS BONNEFOY I WILL KILL—"

"Oh China, you're so cute! Like a little sunflower! Ooh, I love you!"

"No! NO! Don't get so close to me—"

"OMG SHUT UP, ALL OF YOU!"

They all ceased their arguing and looked to America, who was panting  
with the force of his yell. He looked ready to explode a vein in his  
temple. "What has the world come to if _I_ have to be the mature one  
here?" He ignored Britain's snort at that. "I don't care what you say.  
I'm the United States of Awesome and you're all gonna listen to my  
epic idea of awesomazingness and follow through." He glared, his  
breath beginning to fog his glasses. "Plus, who said you guys are  
attached to who you think you are?"

There was a collective murmur. France cleared his throat. "So… what  
you're saying is…"

"…I don't have to be tied to France?" Britain finished, looking  
hopeful.

"HAHAHA! Man, you guys are gullible. Of course you're gonna be tied up  
with the person you hate."

Everyone groaned except Russia. "Is okie-dokie, America. It's a good  
idea."

America grinned. "Thanks, Russia, my man. Anyways, here." He tossed a  
pair at Britain and France, then one at China and Russia. "Put them  
on, or I'll punch you all."

"Hey! Who are you going with?"

Canada suddenly felt very nervous. "Oh no," he whispered, not like  
anyone noticed.

"Canadia, of course!"

"That's hardly fair!" Britain complained. "You actually get along with  
him!"

"Who's Canadia?" China asked blankly.

France did a squee thing. "He was my and Britain's little colony, you  
know? He's right there! Canada, _disez bonjour_~!"

"Hi." Canada said, his eyebrow twitching as he tried to keep a smile  
on his face. Man, he wanted to kill them all sometimes. "I've only  
been sitting here for, oh I don't know, the past hour…"

No one noticed. "But… he's so quiet!" China protested. "I never even  
notice him!"

"Tell me about it…"

"So it's not fair that you get him!" China finished.

"Trust me. Me an' Canadia—"

"CANADA."

"—Canada fight a lot. Right, bro?"

"Oh, uh, I guess…" Canada said slowly as America tied handcuffed  
their wrists together anyway. He put the key in a safe that he'd  
grabbed from nowhere and left it open on the table, staring at the  
rest of the allies expectantly. Canada looked like he wanted to cry.

"I'm serious, I will punch you all." America frowned, trying but  
failing to cross his arms. Instead he just jerked Canada out of his  
seat, making the shorter blond almost fall right on his face.

"Maple," Canada grumbled, fixing his glasses and shooting a glare at  
America's back.

"OVER MY DEAD BODY! I WILL NOT BE TIED TO FRANCE FOR THIS LONG, I'D  
SOONER KILL MYSELF, AND—" Britain was screaming, not noticing when  
France boredly took his hand and clicked the cuff around his wrist.  
The clinking sound of doom interrupted Britain's rant, and he stared  
down at the handcuffs for a moment, his green eyes confused. Then:

"AHHHHH! OH GOD NO!"

"_Oh hon hon hon_~"

"YOU BLOODY GIT!" Britain swiped at the key, but France tossed it to  
America, who caught it easily and threw it into the small safe. His  
eyes wide, Britain turned to the side and glared holy hell at France,  
who just looked smugly pleased.

As they started bickering, the sound of China cursing fluently in his  
language drew America and Canada's attention.

"Hey America?"

"Yeah babe?"

Canada flushed, and Kumajirou did a strange sound like a snicker. If  
bears could snicker. "Don't ever call me that again," he said flatly,  
his face burning. "But I really don't think this is a good idea.  
Either France or Britain will end up dead by the end of this, and  
Russia will try to conquer China—"

"Don't worry about it," America laughed, waving his free hand. "It'll  
turn out fine. I know Britain has secretly been wanting to get in  
France's pants for a while now, and France has always wanted to get  
into Britain's. They'll probably end up with a couple broken limbs,  
but eh, they'll manage."

Shaking his head to clear that unwanted image, Canada tried again.  
"Okay, bu—"

"As for China… well, he's immortal. He'll handle himself."

That wasn't very reassuring, but Canada knew there wasn't much he  
could do. America was just… well, America, and once he was set on  
something there was no convincing him otherwise, unless it involved  
burgers. And seeing as how Canada couldn't think of how to bring  
burgers into this whole mess… he figured it was pointless and decided  
to just accept his fate and try his best not to brutally murder his  
neighbour country over these next weeks. He fell silent and America  
yelled, "DUDE! China, Russia, just put the damn handcuffs on already!"

China's brown eyes were wide and his face was red. "No! I won't be  
able to handle it if I'm attached to him!"

"Aw, you'll be fine. By the way, why are you blushing?"

"BECAUSE I'M PISSED!" China screeched, looking more feminine than  
ever. "I'm going to die, aru."

Russia smiled. "Is okay, China. I won't do anything you don't want to  
do." He grabbed the petite Asian's wrist and put it in the handcuff,  
snapping it closed. China looked at it with wide eyes of doom before  
crying out "Aiiyaaa!" and slamming his forehead down onto the table,  
ignoring Russia as the big nation patted his back. Russia smiled and  
slid the key to America, and the blond threw it into the safe before  
locking it with an even bigger key, sealing China's fate.

At the exact same moment, China, Britain and Canada looked at each  
other, and in their eyes there was one thought they all shared:

_This is going to be the longest three weeks ever_.

"Wait, how come you get to keep the key?" France demanded suddenly,  
interrupting the internal connection of doom the three (suffering)  
countries had going on. "_C'est injuste, ça_. You can just unlock  
yourself from Canada whenever you want!"

"Nah, I'm not keeping it. Don't worry, I got someone coming over in a  
bit to hold it for these three weeks."

"Who?" Britain, China and Canada demanded at the same time.

America laughed. "Someone you guys will never be able to get the key  
from. Man of steeeeeel."

"Is it Germany?"

"Niet—I bet it's Sweden."

"Nah, it's definitely Germany, aru."

"Does Germany even speak to any of us?"

"Uhm, not really… But still…"

"_Je pense que vous êtes tous stupides_. It's _obviously_ Japan. No one  
can break his resolve."

"Idiot! Japan is super gullible!"

"_Mais non_! He is the most mature one!"

"Have you even ever spoken to him?"

"Come on guys, it's obviously Germany, aru."

"I still think it's Sweden."

"Japan."

"Sweden."

"Germany, aru!"

"Bloody hell, you fools! It's probably someone completely random,  
like, like… Like Spain."

"Spain? Seriously? _C'est ben plus stupide que les autres_—"

"NO ONE UNDERSTANDS YOUR DANG FROGGY LANGUAGE!"

"Does it _sound_ like I ribbit? _Seigneur!_"

"Seriously, maybe it is Spain, aru. He's got some serious  
determination. He's still chasing after Romano."

"Hmm, maybe."

"Maybe it's Ukraine, _non_?"

"My sister? No… she's kind of dumb sometimes…"

"Okay guys, he's here!" America interrupted them, getting up and  
dragging poor Canada along as he went to get the overly-large doors of  
their conference room. There was a collective silence and perhaps a  
tumbleweed rolling by.

"It's your alien?" China finally asked.

"He's not an alien! Tony is my best friend!"

"That doesn't mean he's not an alien!" France and Britain yelled at  
the same time.

"Whatevs. Anyways, here ya go, Tony." America handed the key to his  
little alien friend, whose expressionless face almost looked  
sadistically gleeful as he took the key, shoved it in his mouth and  
swallowed it.

There was another silence. Then:

"He swallowed it?"

"We're never gonna get it back!"

"Do aliens poop?"

"Guys seriously! Shut up!" America yelled. "He can spit it up whenever  
he wants. 'Cause Tony's awesome that way."

The alien did a giggle thing then gave America a high five before  
turning around and walking out of the doors.

"Alright, meeting is _ooooooover_! Go do what the fuck you guys want,  
see ya back here in three weeks! Let's go, Canada!"

**xxXXxxXXxx**

KissMeDeadlyT-T: Well, that was lovely wasn't it? ;0 I dunno. It  
probably sucked. It's 1 in the AM here so I'm kinda tired. :D

-Well please review if you want. It would be appreciated :3 If you do  
review, lemme know: should I include some… rated M stuff in the next  
chapters or leave it as silliness? I'm personally leaning towards some  
smexy tiemz but it's up to you guys. :3

-Thanks for reading! If you got this far, I shall give you… cookies!  
(How uncreative of me :P)


	2. RoChu pt 1 Not smut yet, sorry

**KissMeDeadlyT-T: I'm sorry about the weird formatting at the beginning of this. It wouldn't go normal on Word so I just gave up... T.T **

**-Sorry for long wait, I suck...**

**-RoChu chaper ahead! ;O (divided into 2 parts, because I wanted to get something up but I couldn't write the smut damnit!)**

**-Oh and I SUCK at writing Russia. I probably did horrible. I am sorry! D:  
**

**xxXXxxXXxx**

China had never felt so tense in his life.

Nothing in his history had ever made him so stressed out. The Opium  
wars? Nope. During World War Two when Japan wouldn't stop attacking  
Manchuria for resources and stuff? Not even. The stress of having  
civilians build the Great Wall to keep the Mongolians out? Heck_, no._  
Being tied to Russia for another week?

…

China thought that maybe, just maybe, this would be the end of his  
immortality.

It wasn't that he hated Russia, or was particularly terrified― well,  
scratch that. Who wasn't scared of Russia? He was, but not on the same  
level as a lot of the other countries. What was bothering China the  
most was how he knew Russia wanted him to unite with him, but well...  
China really didn't want to. Not because of anything personal. He just  
didn't want his land to be one with Russia.

Another thing irking him was the fact that he felt bad for Russia.  
Sure, the guy was a baby compared to China, but he'd gone through  
enough that his mind had cracked, and behind his cheerful, happy  
persona lurked something darker. China just... felt bad, and he could  
sympathize. He'd gone through a lot too, but somehow had managed to  
keep his sanity one hundred percent there, despite it all. Still, it  
couldn't have been easy, going through what Russia had.

Finally, China was starting to… well… for lack of a better word,  
_crush_ on the huge nation. His palms would get all sweaty, his heart  
would beat like crazy, and his lips would get extremely dry. He  
usually ignored it, or took out his irritation on Russia, but it was  
getting harder to deny. Which was bad, because of the various reasons  
mentioned previously.

Those three things had China so wound up that if you poked him, you  
would find that he was as stiff as a board. When he walked, his  
shoulders were squared and hunched, and even when he sat, he was rigid  
and tense. Russia had suggested many times that China take a bath, or  
allow Russia to give him a massage; for obvious reasons, China always  
refused. Usually by punching the guy or something.

Right now, he was curled up on the couch beside Russia, resisting the  
urge to cuddle into the man's bigger body, pretending to watch the  
movie on the screen. In reality, he was sitting there brooding,  
pouting and shivering. For dumb reasons he'd agreed when Russia had  
suggested they go to his place instead of China's, and it was  
_freezing_. It wasn't even winter for god's sake.

He glanced over at Russia, who seemed perfectly comfortable, his long  
fingers curled around the neck of a bottle of vodka and his scarf  
draping casually over the side of the couch. He had his usual little  
smile on his face, and his purple eyes were watching the movie, albeit  
looking somewhat bored. China scowled at the stupid thumping motion  
his heart did. Why did Russia have to be so dang adorable?

Just then, Russia looked over, and their eyes met. China flushed and  
looked away quickly, not liking the prickly heat that spread down his  
chest. He shivered again.

"Is China cold?"

China's brown eyes snapped up upon hearing the childish query. He  
furrowed his brow, unwilling to admit it, but finally fought his  
stubbornness and sighed. "Yes. It's very cold here, and I didn't bring  
appropriate clothes for this weather... I thought since it was summer  
it would be warmer."

"It's warmer in some places... Just not here."

China didn't really know how to respond. "I see," he said finally.

Russia sat up straighter on the couch, and China jumped at the sudden  
movement. "Here," Russia said, holding his arms out. China's attached  
wrist dragged along, and he flushed when it brushed against Russia's  
gloved hand. "Sit closer to me. Body heat will help, da?"

"Uh," China said slowly, trying not to sound as embarrassed as he  
felt. "It's okay, aru. I don't want to impose…"

"It's not imposing!" Russia smiled. "I insist. Come closer, I am used  
to cold weather and I feel cozy warm. You'll heat up in no time."

China hesitated, but finally gave in. With a grumble, he slid closer,  
awkwardly leaning into Russia's huge frame. It felt nice, and he even  
managed to relax a bit. Blushing, and avoiding the other man's eyes,  
he murmured, "Thank you."

Russia smiled again, resting his free hand on China's head. The Asian  
bit his lip. Oh, this was so wrong. He really shouldn't feel this way―  
all squeamish and excited and fluttery in his stomach. As a country,  
he could never allow himself to get close to Russia. However, as his  
mind drifted, he remembered they were human too… So while China  
couldn't be with Russia, could Yao be with Ivan...?

_No_, he said to himself firmly._ I will not allow myself to fall for  
him any more than I already have_. His mind knew it was wrong, but his heart and body  
begged to differ.

He was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn't notice the movie  
was over. The credits were rolling when Russia moved, tearing him out  
of his brooding. He looked up.

"Wow. That movie sucked."

China couldn't help but giggle and Russia's blunt statement. "I  
agree," he said, moving away as Russia yawned and stretched.

"Sleepy," Russia murmured, and China had to swallow the urge to squee.  
Dang, he loved cute things, and sometimes Russia just took the cake.

"What time is it?" China wondered out loud, looking around for a  
clock. It was dark outside, stars glittering in the black sky like  
white diamonds and huge snowflakes falling like crystals. It had to be  
at least midnight. The time zone here was roughly eight or nine hours  
ahead; China couldn't remember. He wasn't too terribly tired, since it  
was only early afternoon in his time zone, but he imagined Russia  
would be pretty tuckered out.

"Uhm," Russia looked around too. "I don't know. One o'clock, I think."  
He yawned again.

"I see. Do you want to go to sleep?"

"Da. But we should probably shower first," Russia said distractedly,  
blowing his light blond, silvery bangs up. He didn't notice the flush  
that spread up China's neck and cheeks.

This was another thing that had China stressed out―the showers  
together, then sleeping together. Russia was a really touchy-feely  
person, and that made these times even harder for him to get through  
without breaking down in tears of frustration. In bed, Russia would  
cuddle (which China couldn't deny was nice; Russia was always warm  
even when it was cold under the blankets) and when they showered, he  
didn't even try to conceal his… considerable size, and didn't seem to  
grasp the whole concept that China would like to have privacy rather  
than hold up a conversation while stark-naked. China rolled his  
shoulders, flinching when he heard his back and neck crackle. Man, he  
was stressed beyond belief.

"China?"

"Oh." China realized Russia was probably waiting for him to say  
something. "Uh, yes?" he asked nervously.

"We shower?"

"Uh… yeah. We probably should." China seriously wished that countries  
didn't get dirty too. They should stay sparkly clean and never have to  
shower. He swallowed and stood up as Russia did the same, towering  
over the Asian as he sleepily led them to the bathroom. China's  
shoulders were nearly touching his ears, and he was walking almost  
like a robot; seriously, he couldn't wait until this was over and he  
could be stress-free again.

Russia was humming a random tune as he dragged China to the shower,  
not noticing the bright red blush on the Asian man's face. The taps  
squeaked as he turned them on, so the water could warm up before they  
got in, and he started stripping down like it was nothing. China  
gulped. He hated this, he really did.

The shirts were always a hassle to get off; they'd both had to cut  
slits into one side of them so they could get them on, what with the  
handcuffs making it impossible to tear away from the other, and then  
clumsily stitch then back together. When it came to undressing, they  
had to rip the stitching open again. It was really a bother, but miles  
better than walking around topless.

Russia didn't seem to mind being naked in front of China, and finally  
took his scarf and delicately laid it on the counter. China was just  
standing there, his back to Russia, trying not to die of awkwardness.  
Was that even possible? He was pretty positive that even if it wasn't,  
it was going to happen to him anyway.

He kept his eyes firmly glued on the floor as he climbed into the  
shower. Instantly the hot water warmed him, but it didn't really make  
him feel better. He seriously and sincerely wished America a painful,  
slow death for his stupid handcuff idea. He took the elastic from his  
hair, letting it fall down his back, and tried to focus on the steamy  
water pouring down his body and /not/ on the humming nation behind him.

With one hand, he clumsily poured shampoo onto his hair and started  
scrubbing, his eyes squeezed shut. He kept talking to himself in his  
head, giving himself little pep-talks and consoling himself with that  
fact that this was already two-thirds over_. You can get through this.  
_  
"China?" Russia said suddenly, his voice closer than expected. China  
jumpe about a foot in the air, nearly slipping on the wet floor. He  
automatically grabbed Russia's arm, which had shot out to grab him, to  
steady himself, his face warming.

"W-what?" he stuttered, quickly turning his back to Russia before he  
could get caught up gawking. Contrary to popular belief, Russia wasn't  
fat… he was just big-boned. Seriously, China felt like a little girl  
compared to those broad shoulders, sculpted hips, washboard abs… and  
he wasn't even going to _think_ about how big certain _other_ parts of  
him were. He was positive his face was going to explode any second now.

"You're really stiff," Russia was saying, and China jerked when he  
felt fingers brush along his spine lightly. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," China snapped. "You ask me every day."

Russia made a sound that sounded vaguely like an agreement. "It's  
unhealthy, you know. I can give you a massage, if you like. You will  
feel better."

China had to take a few deep breaths to keep calm. Russia's thickly  
accented voice was _way _too close, and he could sense the other man's  
towering presence barely a millimetre away from his own small, almost  
feminine body. "I-I'm fine. You don't need to―" He cut himself off  
with a gasp when Russia's hands squeezed his stiff shoulders without  
warning. His knees almost gave out, and he would have fallen if Russia  
hadn't wound one arm around his waist, pulling their bodies flush  
together. China's hand was dragged along with it, because of the  
cuffs, and it rested on top of Russia's. The Asian nearly fainted.

"I said _no_―" he started, but didn't finish when Russia rolled the  
thumb of his free hand against the spot between his shoulder blades.  
He couldn't help but moan softly as the sore muscles were kneaded, not  
too hard but hard enough to make a difference. The hot water and the  
slow massage were more relaxing than he'd like, and he found himself  
leaning into the touch, despite his mind screaming at him to fight it.

"I told you it would feel good," Russia whispered, his voice near  
China's ear. The Asian bit his lips together and nodded mutely, his  
eyes squeezed shut in an effort to calm down. It wasn't very  
effective, but what could he do? Russia's _naked _body was pressed  
against his, and it felt _right._ _Oh God, this is so wrong, but…_

"Russia, you shouldn't―" he tried to protest, but had to bite down  
another moan when Russia found a particularly tense part. The hand  
that was on top of Russia's tightened, nails digging into pale skin  
and leaving tiny crescent moons. "There," he ground out, biting his  
lip so hard it started to split. Russia continued to knead that one  
spot. China realized in horror that his body was reacting, and there  
was no way to hide himself.

He tried to tilt away, so maybe Russia wouldn't see, but he felt the  
body behind him tense suddenly, and knew he'd been caught.

"China?"

"...Yes?" China squeaked, hoping that maybe Russia hadn't noticed and his stopping was a coincidence. This was so embarrassing...

"Uhm." Russia made a sound as if he found this whole situation funny. China wanted to die. "You are—"

"Don't say it," China snapped as he squeezed his eyes shut. Damn it! Could this be any more humiliating?

"Why are you like that?"

China snorted. How was he supposed to answer that? "I... have no idea."

"Is it because of me?"

The Asian turned bright red and ducked his head in hopes that Russia wouldn't be able to see. He wanted to scream at the man to get away from him (not that he could...), that no, this wasn't because of him, it was all some stupid coincidence. He tried, but his voice died in his throat. He swallowed, and then whispered, "Aiyaa..."

"China?"

"I think... you should let go of me, Russia, aru."

"Why?"

"Why—what do you mean, _why_?" China sputtered. "Because I _said_ so! Why the hell else!"

"No, I mean... why? Like why should I let go?" He smiled, nuzzling his face in the Asian's dark hair, and China's heart started hammering. "You are enjoying it, _da_?"

"I—no, of course not!" China said indignantly. "Don't be stupid! How could I enjoy being so close to—_you—_!" His voice squeaked on the last word when Russia ignored him and pulled him closer. "No!" China yelled, kicking and squirming, but it was useless. Russia was too big and too strong, and China's hard heels hitting his shins didn't even make him blink. The Asian gave up and slumped forward, lying limply in Russia's arms. Maybe, just maybe, Russia would be stupid and think China suddenly died and lose interest. He heard Russia giggle quietly, and something like mixed fear and excitement washed over him.

"You're so tiny and pretty, just like a little doll," Russia remarked, wrapping his fingers around China's free wrist. His long digits easily wound around the Asian's skinny arm, and he lifted it, before letting it swing down to fall near China's hip. China was frozen in terror. Seriously, he knew he liked Russia—for reasons he didn't know—and he understood how badly he wanted him. Still, he was terrified of him. He knew Russia wanted to conquer him, and he knew the man's mind was broken and rendered to that of a child, but most of all, he was scared that if he gave in, he would lose himself.

"I can even move you around and pick you up like one!" Russia was saying elatedly, picking China up by the hips and spinning him a bit. China squealed and latched onto him automatically, half-afraid Russia would lose his footing on the wet floor. The hot water beat down on his head repeatedly as he passed under and then out of it. Russia finally stopped, and China shook his head, trying to rid himself of the dizziness. His eyes widened and he forgot about it when he felt Russia's hand brush along his cheekbone softly. "China, so pretty... Like a little doll, a little sunflower..."

"Will you let me down!" China complained, pounding his tiny fists on Russia's shoulders. "Shut up about your stupid dolls! I'm not a doll or a stupid sunflower!"

Again, Russia didn't listen to his demands to be put down and just smiled. "China..."

"What!" China snapped, squirming again. He realized then that all this did was make their bodies rub together, and turned bright red. Even after all this, he was still aroused, and rubbing against the Russian really did nothing to help. The stupid hot water pouring onto them didn't make the situation any better, either. He stopped and settled for pushing at Russia's chest. He knew he didn't really stand a chance at shoving him away, but it made him feel better trying.

"May I play with you?"

China blinked at the childish question. It almost sounded like Russia was pouting, and when their eyes met, he saw something like hopeful wonder in Russia's deep purple eyes. His eyebrows furrowed and he tried to fight the flush rising up his cheeks. "No you may not, aru! What you can do is put me down and leave me alone."

Russia frowned. "Why are you so mean to me?"

"Because I don't like you! You creep me out!" _I'm trying to push you away so I won't let you in._

"That's not it," Russia said, his voice lowering. China stopped shoving at his chest and glared at the floor as though it was all its fault. "What's the real reason? I can tell that over these past weeks something has been bugging you, and I know it's me. And not because you're scared of me, either. Despite what everyone seems to think... I'm not stupid." His eyes narrowed, and China gulped, his heart pounding. "So what it is? I'm not going to hurt you, Yao."

_Well my name sounds amazingly sexy in his accent. _"I—that is... I..." China stammered, then suddenly blurted, "Do you know how hard it is to desperately want someone and know you can't have them? I hate this. I _hate _how much I _want_ you, when I know all _you_ want is my stupid country! Well, forget it!" he hissed, choking up. "I'm never going to give in. I'm not becoming one with you and if being mean to you and pushing you away is what it takes, then so be it, aru!" He was breathing heavily by the end of his little rant, and he felt angry tears welling up in his eyes.

"You think all I want is your country?" Russia asked, sounding genuinely surprised.

"I know it, stupid! Go on, laugh at me for being in love with you. Fuck it, force me to become one with you! I don't care anymore. I'm just _tired_ of feeling like this! I can't—" His voice broke. "I can't stand loving you so much," he whispered so quietly it was barely audible over the spray of the shower. Russia's arm tightened around him, and he didn't fight back this time.

"Why on earth would you love me?"

China laughed bitterly. "I don't know. Because I like to torture myself? Because I feel horrible for all the terrible things you've gone through in your past? You're so young, and you've gone through so much, your mind has cracked and you're not... right anymore. People are scared of you. _I'm_ scared of you. Pity is a cruel thing, but I pity you, and I wish you didn't have to go through everything you did. I know you're lonely, and I want to fill that void, but I don't want to have to give up my country. I just... I don't know why. You're just special to me."

Russia's eyes looked misty. "I am lonely," he said quietly. "So lonely. Yao..." He buried his face in China's long hair. "You don't have to give up your country. I just want you. You make me feel happy and not lonely. You're special to me too." He sounded like he was going to cry, and China couldn't think of anything to do other than wrap his free arm around Russia and pull him close. "Will you stay with me? Not as China... as Yao?"

He sounded so sad and lonely that China couldn't have said no if he'd wanted to. He nodded, his lips forming a watery smile against the crook of Russia's neck. "Okay... Ivan."

**xxXXxxXXxx**

**KissMeDeadlyT-T: Shitty place to end it I know. But the thing is that I wanted to add another chapter to this fic SO DAMN BAD— it's been like forever and I still haven't finished anything! At first this was going to have the smut in it (as it should...) but I couldn't get it done. Like, I have severe writer's block for it and I hate it! So I'll just post this for now, and the smut will get done as soon as possible. I'm sorry guys T.T**

**Review? Oh and if I finish one of the other chapters before the smut to this one, I'll post it, but name it something obvious so that it's obviously not the smut for the RoChu part. That made sense right? Sorry for all the confusion. Writer's block is a pain in the ass for everyone...**


	3. FrUk chapter!

**KissMeDeadlyT-T: Thanks for the reviews guys :D Goodness, this fic is slow going. Anyway, this is the FrUk chapter. It's pretty obvious, but there is smut and France molests a Popsicle. You have been warned.**

**-Uhhhmmm I'm very sorry about all the confusion last chapter. I'm trying to get the RoChu smut done... It's... going... (And what I mean by that is it's not going at all...)**

**-Human names used but only really during dialogue. SMUT AHEAD.**

**xxXXxxXXxx**

Britain didn't think he could handle one more day of this.

Stupid, perverted, annoying, douchey, sexy, handsome, _seductive_frog. Britain was fine with keeping his desires inside—always had been, always would be. Or so he'd thought. He was finding that increasingly hard to do.

_Goddamnit, America_, he cursed to himself, trying not to notice France humming idly and eating a popsicle beside him. Yes. A bloody Popsicle. A stupid, cheap, unimportant dollar store _popsicle_, and it was driving Britain up the wall.

Because he _knew_ France was just eating it to be annoying and get under his skin. France never ate popsicles—he was a fucking _gourmet._ And for fuck's sake, _no one _ate a goddamn stupid strawberry Popsicle like they were giving a blowjob. At least not to this extent. France would hum, his deep, throaty voice vibrating with pleasure that Britain highly doubted strawberry popsicles could ever bring to someone. He would slide it past his red, wet lips as far as he could; slurping noisily as he took it out and then did it again. Every once in a while, he would flick his tongue messily over the tip, licking up little beads of juice that had gathered there. And worse of all, he would constantly glance sideways at Britain with dark, seductive blue bedroom eyes, a smirk curling his lips, before going back to mouth fucking the popsicle.

Yes. _No one_ate a popsicle like that. It was wrong even by France-standards.

Britain shifted uncomfortably in his seat, re-crossing his legs as he sipped quietly at his tea. It was raining, as per usual in London, and they were sitting beside each other on the couch that faced the huge bay window in the front wall of his house. The world outside looked dark, dreamy and mysterious, his favourite kind of atmosphere— and yet, Britain couldn't damn well focus on it no matter how hard he tried.

France slurped. Britain flushed. _How is he not done that stupid popsicle yet?_

This wasn't the only seemingly innocent thing France had done. The other day, he'd spilt some yogurt on the table, and wiped it up with his fingers, licking it off with a seductive and playful smirk to Britain. This had led Britain to storming away in annoyed arousal, but since they were bound together, it just made France stumble and fall onto him. Another time, Britain had been eating, just minding his own business when suddenly France had leaned over and flicked his tongue across Britain's lips, claiming 'there was some cheese that shouldn't go to waste'. He had been eating fish sticks. There was no cheese involved in fish sticks.

Indeed. Britain was close to snapping and either raping, knocking out or just plain killing the Frenchman.

He looked down at the novel in his lap; he couldn't even remember what he was reading, and had been on the same page for at least a half hour. His thick eyebrow twitched when France made a purring sound, and he clenched his jaw.  
_  
Don't. Do_ not_ react. You can get through this, Arthur. You've been through worse._ Britain bit his lip, which was raw from chewing on it these past two weeks_. It's only one more week. You can make it._

"_Arthur_…" France's voice, way too deep and velvety for any normal situation, tore him from his inner motivational speech.

He made sure to keep his green eyes focused firmly on the page before him, and kept his voice cool and casual. "What, Francis?"

"You look… uncomfortable. Is something wrong?" Blue eyes blinked innocently.

Britain's eyebrow twitched again. "Nothing's wrong." _You bloody stupid frog, you're so goddamn lucky I have this much self control._  
_  
"Ce n'est pas gentil faire des mensonges_."

"Cut the stupid frog language, you annoying twat," the Brit snapped, more easily irritated since his nerves were already short. Mostly today he was going on about that because (he'd never admit it), but French was an _insanely _sexy language, especially when spoken by the personification of French itself, and he was having a hard enough time keeping himself under control without that added factor.

"_Non, mon cher_. You love it, don't deny it. As I said, it's not nice to lie…"

"I'm not lying at all, and you're just being the dimwitted creep you are. Leave me alone." He was tempted to make a snarky remark about how he was sexually defiling that popsicle, but that would make France aware of how badly it was affecting him. He crossed his legs tighter, trying to keep himself calm. France's smirk was all too smug.

Britain wanted to punch it right off.

France made a noncommittal sound and shrugged, going back to having oral sex with the popsicle. Once more, Britain squirmed in his seat. He wished he could get away, even for a minute. Just enough so that he could _calm the hell down_. It was enough being chained to the man twenty-four/seven, but this _goddamn Popsicle…_He couldn't resist a sideways peek through his lashes, and instantly regretted it.

God, France was gorgeous. He was attractive enough on a daily basis, but with that popsicle sliding suggestively in and out of his mouth, he looked positively scrumptious. Britain wanted him so bad—Imagine what that mouth could do on… other things? He shivered. _Shit. I'm getting aroused, I have to stop looking…_

But he couldn't. France was tantalizingly captivating, and Britain had to bite his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood just to keep quiet. His imagination was just a tad bit over reactive and it was taking him places he really didn't want to go, but couldn't stay away from.

He was Britain, England, the bloody _United Kingdom_, and he didn't bend over and take it from anyone. But oh god, he would for France. He hated to think about it, since it made him feel inferior, but that was what his wet dreams were made of. France, on top of him, stubbly chin scratching Britain's soft skin raw as he bit and kissed him everywhere and pounded into him mercilessly, pain and shocking pleasure scalding, _burning_ Britain to the core, until he forgot everything, even his own name, and all he could do was scream his throat bloody and explode_. Yes, oh god—_

"_Fuck_," he breathed, his body seizing up as he came into his pants solely from watching France's mouth on that popsicle and fantasizing about what he wanted the most in the world right now. He barely noticed France pause and look over at him, confusion and then predatory glee transforming his features. He squeezed his eyes shut as shudders ran through his body and let out a silent moan, panting slightly when his body finally stopped trembling.

When he deemed it safe and opened his eyes, he was not expecting to see a smirk and smouldering blue eyes right in front of his face. With a start, he yelped and jumped back, nearly tipping the couch backwards in his frenzy to get away. His face turned the color of beets when France slowly lowered himself onto his lap, knees on either side of Britain's hips and his hands planting themselves beside the Brit's head. One of Britain's hands was caught underneath France's slightly bigger ones due to the handcuffs, and he stared at France with wide, terrified green eyes.

"G-get off," he barked, but it was weak, and France's widening smirk only proved that.

"Oh, like you just did?"

Britain thought that perhaps his face was about to spontaneously combust. "I-I d-don't know what—"

France laughed. "I wasn't aware that popsicles were such a turn on for you, _mon amour_." With another smirk, he licked the nearly-gone Popsicle from bottom to top, laughing playfully when Britain shut his eyes and moaned softly. Blue eyes drifted down to the wet spot on the front of Britain's trousers, and France grinned, his free hand reaching down to grab it, not gently. Britain jerked.

"You're still hard?"

"N-no—nghh—"

France let out a throaty laugh and Britain whimpered, his chest heaving slightly. There was a light sheen of sweat on his skin, and it shone dully in the faint light coming from outside. His lip was sucked firmly into his mouth, and his cheeks were flushed. France practically purred in delight.

"If I'd known you would be this willing, I would have done this a long time ago…"

"Y-you bloody frog— get _away_ from—" His head jerked back as France reached inside his pants and squeezed. A choked moan escaped him, and his hands tightened on the nearest things; his left one to France's right, and his right one to the arm of the leather couch. "Oh_ God_," he ground out, breathing heavily through his nose. A bit of blood trickled down from where his lip was in a fierce lock with his teeth, and he tried his hardest not to pathetically give in.

"Mm," France hummed appreciatively, taking in the dishevelled "gentleman" before him. He slid the melting popsicle across Britain's trembling lips, leaving a layer of cold, sweet liquid, before tossing it aside and leaning down to devour something even yummier.

Much to his surprise, Britain didn't put up a fight at all. France pried his mouth open with his tongue, moaning quietly at the mixed taste of strawberry, blood and Britain himself. The hand that had been gripping the couch moved to France's arm, blunt nails digging in almost painfully as their tongues met. They both fought for dominance, but France easily won, making the Brit shudder and moan when he stopped squeezing the man's cock and instead began to lazily stroke it.

Britain broke away with a gasp as France dug his thumb into the leaking slit, a small string of saliva dribbling down his chin. His eyes squeezed shut and his head flew back, fingers tightening painfully and hips jerking forward erratically.

"Oh god—F-Fraa-aahh, d-don't—"

"Why would you deny you want it?" France murmured, nuzzling his face into Britain's flushed neck and kissing there teasingly before pulling back and smirking, "It's obvious you don't want me to stop."

Britain fought to open his eyes. They fluttered slightly but met France's and he was panting hard as he ground out, "I w-was going to—mmmm—say— d-don't stop."

France's grin grew. "_Mon plaisir, cheri_."

His hand sped up and Britain cried out, his legs hooking behind France's back as if to keep him from leaving. _Like I would_, France thought, taking in Britain's appearance: messy hair, damp with sweat, dark red, flushed face, eyes half-shut in lust-hazy pleasure, wet red lips open to take in quick, shaky breaths. He'd never thought he'd see Britain like this in any place besides his wildest dreams, and damn, he was glad he'd decided to eat that Popsicle.

"F-Fran—nn—"

France tore himself out of his thoughts. "_Oui_?"

"I-I'm close—"

A dirty smirk curled the Frenchman's lips. He tightened his fingers to the point where he actually saw tears spring up in Britain's eyes. He knew it must hurt, but he was no fool; he'd been beside this man for as long as he could remember. He'd noticed little things—like how Britain seemed to enjoy pain. Sure enough, a moan of ecstasy flew from Britain's lips, and his head thrashed from side to side. France felt the man's stomach tightening and murmured, "Come for me_, Angleterre_."

Britain's personality shone through for a moment. "Don't call me that," he snapped, before moaning loudly and arching off the back of the couch, his eyes rolling back. Thick white semen spurted into France's waiting hand, and France himself moaned, his own libido getting way too hard to ignore any longer.

While Britain's body was still spasming and rigid, France hastily wiped his hand on his pants and gracefully changed their position so that Britain was lying on the couch, his hands above his head and France nestled between his legs. After a moment, Britain opened his eyes, panting hard.

"Pervert," he ground out, embarrassed. "I can't believe—"

"_Moi_? _I'm_not the one who came from watching me eat a Popsicle."

"My _arse _you were eating it. You were mouth-fucking that thing."

"And_ you_got off on it," France smirked. Britain blushed darkly.

"Fuck you," he snapped, kicking his legs and flailing his arms in an attempt to throw France off of him. The Frenchman, who had expected something like this, was ready and easily held the Brit down, hands pinning hands to the couch. He leaned closer, touching his lips softly to Britain's snarling mouth, his famous Sex Smirk ever present on his stubbly face.

"Actually," France murmured, his eyes sparkling with laughter, "I think _I'll_ fuck _you_." Before Britain could answer, or perhaps try to kill him, he swooped down and buried his face in Britain's feverish neck. Britain shuddered at the tickly feeling France's beard caused, and half-heartedly tried to shove the man away. It was no use, though; he'd lost ever since France had started on that popsicle.

He jerked in pain as he felt France bite down, hard, on his neck, hard enough to draw blood. His head whipped back and his free hand flew to his mouth to muffle a cry, his cock twitching inside his strained pants. He didn't know if he'd be able to handle another orgasm, but he couldn't control himself. Whimpering, his hands pulled at France's shirt, silently ordering it off. France leaned back, licking his lips, and quite literally tore his shirt off. Britain tried not to drool too much as he stared at the man he'd been beside his whole life, and felt his hands start tremble with the craving to touch the perfect, pale skin. He swallowed a moan and reached out, spreading the fingers of his free hand across the muscled torso in front of him. France's smirk faltered for a moment and was replaced with something much darker, something possessive, but it switched back to his usual expression so quick Britain wondered if he'd imagined it.

Despite sort of liking the shirt he was wearing, Britain had no complaints as France ripped that off too, clearly too impatient to figure out a way to take it off while their hands were still bound. Britain's hand left France's chest and came up to tangle in his long, wavy hair, pulling him down for a sloppy, heated kiss. His heart was pounding so quick he thought for sure France could hear it. He couldn't even think of how long he'd wanted this. This man, whom he hated and loved with all of his heart, had been the object of his desire for as long as he could remember.

France's unbound arm slid around his back and brought them flush together, and they both let out low moans at the contact. The kiss was becoming more and more messy and desperate as their control started to slip. Getting a bit impatient and not one for waiting, Britain growled and rubbed against France, bringing forth a tingly pleasuring friction. The Frenchman moaned under his breath, breaking the kiss.

"You know, if you do that, I'm not going to be able to control myself," he murmured, nuzzling Britain's bruised neck.

"Oh, I know," Britain chuckled, a smirk on his lips. He grinded his hips up into France's and relished in the visible shudder that ripped through the other's body. "But who said I wanted you to control yourself?"

France grinned. "_Touché." _

The rest of their clothes were quickly discarded, and for a moment, all they did was stare at each other. Britain couldn't help but trail his eyes up France's body, as slow as he could, taking in every imperfection that created perfection. His body was muscled and toned, but not too much, and his limbs were long and graceful. He had a more delicate look about him, and had softer edges, whereas Britain's were sharper and he knew he could never be mistaken as anything other than a somewhat short man. His eyes found France's cock, and his stomach did a weird turn-over thing. His face turned red and he forced himself to look away, continuing his way up France's stomach and chest, noticing little scars; some of which he created, and some he hadn't known existed. Finally, he looked up, past France's perfect, soft lips and to his eyes. Britain felt his stomach do another flip when he saw France was staring back into his eyes with something unreadable in his own. It was dark, possessive, and almost needy. Britain quickly looked away, not sure what to make of it.

It dawned on him that he should feel awkward being naked in front of France, but for some reason, it wasn't. It just felt right. He swallowed. "Francis, I..." He trailed off, not sure what he'd been about to say.

France seemed equally unnerved. Neither of them knew what, but something had changed. They weren't just Francis and Arthur having sex, now. It was something different. For another moment, it was quiet, and they looked at each others' eyes, and then suddenly Britain blurted, "Damn it, frog. Just take me already, I can't stand this." He knew he loved France and always had, but now that something was sparking between them, he didn't know what to do. It was so unfamiliar.

"_Oui_, of course." France reached over to grab the bottle of hand cream he had spotted on the table, but Britain caught his wrist. France looked down at him in surprise.

Britain was blushing. "I just—don't use that."

France raised an eyebrow. He noticed the hand he held was trembling. "And what do you suggest I use?"

"Um..." Britain exhaled, covering his red face with his free hand. "Nothing."

France's eyebrows drew together in confusion. And then it dawned on him. Britain liked pain. "You want me to just take you dry?"

"Uh, well..." Britain's voice wobbled, but it was mostly steady. His face was burning. "Yes," he whispered, so quietly it was hard to hear.

France hesitated, unsure he wanted to hurt Britain, but then realized he'd done far worse and even broken some of the man's limbs before, even though this was different. Plus, if it was what Britain wanted, he would give it to him. He was _France_. He never denied a lover. "Okay," he said simply. His veins were starting to thrum with excitement and desire again, and he couldn't help the grin that curled his lips. Britain, also becoming more excited, noticed, and against his will his lips started to lift too. His hearth thundered in his chest as he watched France take ahold of himself and line up with the Brit's entrance.

Britain swallowed. He was certainly not a virgin, but it had been a very, very long time. Decades, centuries even. Maybe since his pirate days. This was very likely to hurt and tear him, and leave him unable to walk for a couple of days, but he found that he didn't care. He could hear his blood rushing in his head as nervous excitement fluttered through him. France looked at him and grinned.

"Ready?"

Britain's hand tightened around France's. "Ready."

"All at once, or—?"

"Damn it, Francis. I don't care! Just _do it_!"

France rolled his eyes and muttered an insult in French. Britain started to angrily insult him back, but his words broke off into a sharp gasp when France suddenly shoved halfway in, without giving any warning. Pain ripped through Britain's entrance and spine, and he arched his back, mouth forming a silent scream. Tears beaded at the corners of his clamped-shut eyes and his blunt nails tore into France's skin as the Frenchman eased further in. Britain could feel France's hot breath on his neck as he muttered curses in his native language and he shivered. Once France was completely sheathed inside of Britain, they both lay there for a moment panting, France placing comforting kisses on Britain's neck as the Englishman whimpered in pain.

Britain felt tears welling up in his eyes again, but not from pain this time. He loved France. He loved him _so much_ he could barely stand it. They had always been together, always having each others' backs and then stabbing each others' backs. They had always been side by side, and now, they were like one. His fingers tightened around the familiar hand and he took a deep breath, inhaling France's familiar flowery scent. Everything about this was right.

"Move," he said, trying to distract himself from the overflow of emotions whirling in his head.

France hesitated again. "You know, I know you enjoy it, but I really don't want to hurt you..."

"You've never had a problem with it before," Britain pointed out.

France glared down at him. "This is different and you know it."

Britain did know. He flushed and looked away from France's blue eyes, his heart thumping erratically. "Just move, Francis."

France sighed and nodded, apparently realizing Britain wasn't going to change his mind on the matter. He slid halfway out, gritting his teeth at the hot, wet tightness of Britain's body, and slammed back in, not bothering to go slow or gently since Britain apparently didn't want that. He didn't waste any time with trying to find a slow, steady pace, but instead immediately started ramming repeatedly into Britain's body, watching the Engllishman's face through heavily-lidded eyes. Britain let out a series of cries, head whipping back and forth with each thrust. It hurt, _goddamn it bloody hurt_, but the pain just made the feeling ten times better.

His arm slid under France's arm and he clawed at the pale back, trying to hold on to something real to anchor himself to the world, and cried out continuously against France's collarbone, unable to hold in his sounds. He could feel every inch of France inside of him, sliding in and out of his body, full and then empty, complete and then incomplete. He tried to open his eyes to see France's face, but the mixed pleasure-pain was too much, and he couldn't keep them open for longer than a couple seconds. He heard France groan as his head dropped to Britain's chest, and Britain couldn't repress the moan that bubbled up his throat. His heart was pounding and liquid pleasure was thrumming in his veins. This had to be something close to ecstasy.

"Francis," he gasped, fingers clawing at France's hand and his back. This was still not enough. "H-harder—"

"_Mon dieu,_ Arthur," France snapped breathlessly. "I'm already going as fast as I can!" Britain just groaned in response, and France was nearly drooling at the sight. Britain looked to be in complete bliss—eyes drooped, cheeks flushed, mouth slack and crying out—but he wanted more? He clenched his jaw and stopped thrusting for a moment, ignoring Britain's whine of protest. He pulled out of the slick, hot body and lifted one of the Brit's legs to his shoulder, pushing the other one out as far as it would go. Britain looked at him, puzzled, and was opening his mouth to ask something when France pushed back in without any warning.

Britain's eyes went wide and he let out a sharp cry, his entire body tensing up. France smirked and hit that spot again, Britain's screams of ecstasy music to his ears. He lowered his head to one of Britain's dusky nipples and took it into his mouth, twirling his tongue around it and suckling on it as he had the tip of the popsicle earlier. Britain started squirming, his body beginning to shake and throb more and more.

"Ah _God_—!" he cried, his eyes squeezing shut in pure pleasure. He gasped sharply when France bit down and involuntarily jerked his hips up, meeting France mid-thrust and forcing him in deeper. "France—I-I'm—"

France could feel Britain's body getting tighter and felt his stomach quivering. Between their bodies, Britain's cock twitched, and a weak moan flew from Britain's lips. France groaned, panting hard as he tried to go faster. "I know," he ground out, his arms starting to shake from having supported his body so long. "Me too."

Britain whimpered as his hand went up to tangle in France's wavy hair and pull the man away from his chest and up, so that their foreheads were touching."S-so close—" he whispered, shuddering at the feeling of France's heavy breathing on his lips.

"Together," France panted.

As if it was a signal, all of the pleasure that had been building up and teetering precariously on the edge suddenly burst, and Britain's back arched. With a cry of France's name, he came harder than he ever had before in between their stomachs, his entire body tense and rigid as pleasure trembled through every fibre of his being. His body tightened so much that tears sprung in France's eyes, and it only took a few more thrusts before France was moaning Britain's name through his climax too. Their harsh breaths mingled and they lay there panting, trembling and their bodies thrumming with the after-effects of their orgasms, for a long, long while, their foreheads still pressed together.

Britain thought he was about to pass out. His vision was coming back, but it was blurry and little fireworks were still exploding in his sight. He had never felt so utterly spent, satisfied and happy in his entire life, and couldn't help but let his heavy eyelids fall shut. After a moment, he vaguely felt France pull out with a wet, sticky feeling, and collapse onto the couch, half beside and half on top of Britain's spent body. Britain didn't mind. He buried his face in France's neck and inhaled, the familiar scent making him feel safe and protected and... loved.

"Arthur."

The husky murmur spoken into the crown of his head made Britain sleepily look up. "What?" he asked.

France pulled away just enough so that he could look down into Britain's green eyes. Once again, that dark, possessive look passed through France's sapphire ones, and Britain didn't know what to say, so he just swallowed past the lump in his throat and looked down at his chest instead. France caught his chin and forced him to look back up. Britain was about to protest, his cheeks heating up, when France pressed their lips softly together again, his hand coming up to stroke a thumb over Britain's cheek.

He pulled away unwillingly. He looked uncomfortable, almost scared; like he was afraid Britain was going to make him leave. "Where does this leave us?" he asked, hesitantly moving his hand to brush Britain's messy bangs away from his thick eyebrows and eyes. To his surprise, Britain didn't blush and shove his hand away, but instead reached up and wound their fingers together.

"I... I'm not sure," he said slowly, his cheeks darkening. "I mean, I-I—I want—"

France made a sound like air escaping a balloon, then cried, "I can't stand it any longer!" He sat up, involuntarily dragging Britain along with him due to the handcuffs. "Please, please, _please_ give me a chance, Britain."

Britain could honestly say he was completely shocked. "I... what?"

France's eyes looked teary and he let out a dramatic cry. "Give me a _chance_! With you! _C'est tout que je vous demande. _ I've been trying for _centuries_ to get you to let me _in_, past all of those walls you love the keep up, and now I_ have,_ _please,_ _don't_ push me away. _Je t'en prie, Angleterre. Je t'aime._ I_ love_ you. I have for as long as I can remember and I—" His voice broke and he choked out a sob. "I love you so much. There is nothing I want in the world as much as I want you. Will you... will you let me? Will you let me love you?"

"Oh God, Francis..." Britain whispered, his eyes stinging at the confession. He'd always thought that France's constant flirting and teasing was just to annoy him, just to poke fun at the fact that Britain could never have him, that he would forever be out of his reach, and there was_ nothing Britain could do._ None of that mattered now. He blinked rapidly, trying to stop the tears, and tightened his fingers around both of France's hands. He tried to speak, but the lump in his throat made it painful and hard, and his voice wouldn't come out. After a few moments of struggling and repressing tears, he finally managed to ground out, "Yes."

The handcuffs made a clinking sound as France cried out and tackled Britain into a flying hug, sending them both tumbling back onto the couch. "_Merci,_" he said, tears falling from his eyes onto Britain's face. His lips curled up in a watery smile and he kissed Britain again, paying no attention to the tears sliding down Britain's cheeks because he knew the Englishman wouldn't like this moment of weakness to be recognized. Britain let the kiss go on for a while and then pulled back with a sigh, the corners of his mouth twitching too.

"I don't know why you ever doubted it."

France seemed confused. "Doubted what?"

"That I would give you a chance." Britain smiled softly. "I couldn't say no to you, even if I wanted to. I... Well, um..." He trailed off, then swallowed and tried again, blushing. "I... I love you, too. Since we were small. I've always wanted you, but you're always so pervy and creepy so I thought...well, I thought you'd only want me for... uhm, for sex." He cringed. "But that's not why you're saying this, right?"

France shook his head at the almost scared tone in Britain's voice. "Of course not!" he said. "I love you. I want _all_ of you." He looked at Britain seriously for a long moment, and then his signature grin made an appearance. "Although, I will admit a rather large part of it _is _the sex..."

Britain punched him in the head, turning beet red. "You're such a creep!" he yelled. "Why the hell do I even like you, honestly."

France's grin widened. "Because you can't resist me, and you fell prey to my charm and beauty."

"Right," Britain scoffed, pushing him away. He sat up at reached for his torn shirt, wincing. He cleaned himself off with it and handed it to France, who began doing the same as Britain grabbed his pants, once again flinching at the pain in his bottom half. "That's exactly what it is," he muttered sarcastically, rolling his eyes to mask the flutter his heart did and the smile that he couldn't hide.

"Do you have to put those back on?" France sounded pouty.

"Yes," Britain responded calmly, grabbing France's and shoving them into the man's arms. "And find a shirt, too."

France groaned. "Shirts are a pain while we're like this," he complained, jangling the wrist in the handcuff. "Why can't we just stay here and cuddle and maybe have more sex and—"

Britain flushed and turned away. "I have something I need to do."

Grumbling in French, France put his pants on. "What is it?" he asked, obviously annoyed that Britain didn't want to go for another round. Britain rolled his eyes. Apparently some things would never change.

"I need to talk to America."

France looked at him in disbelief. "Are you kidding?" he demanded. "We just had _sex_ and confessed to loving each other after _centuries_ of waiting and you want to _talk to America_?" He shook his head like Britain was crazy. "I can't believe this. Here I am, wanting to cuddle you and hug you and love you but you want to talk to America."

Britain rolled his eyes and took a deep breath to calm his irritation. "Look, Francis," he said slowly. "You have _no_ idea how bad I want to push you to the ground and fuck you senseless for the rest of the night." France looked pleased, a flush coloring his cheeks, and Britain sighed. "And maybe we will. But I want to talk to America and get him to get rid of these," he lifted their bound wrists, "so that we can actually _do_ things without awkwardly fumbling around and tripping over each other. And I, for one, know I will not be able to stay bound to you for another week without losing my mind. As much as I love you, you are a huge pain in the ass."

France laughed. "I get it. And I don't think I could be stuck to you for much longer, either." He frowned. "You're too grumpy and weird."

Britain resisted the urge to slap him and instead let out an amused sound. "And you are the creepiest creep to ever creep."

"But you love me~"

Britain smiled. Despite their pasts and how much they hated each other, it was the truth. "Yeah," he said, squeezing France's hand. "I do."

**xxXXxxXXxx**

**KissMeDeadlyT-T: DAT ENDING. DAT LEMON. DAT ONESHOT. :O*jumps off nearby bridge***

**Well... I'm not quite sure how this turned out. I don't know. I was trying to really focus on their love/hate thing. I don't know if I did well or not. **

**Was it good? I thought it was ok... Actually, to be honest... I think it was ok until the actual smut started. Hmm. I'll leave it up to you guys to decide. Reviews, feedback? :3**


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